Love is Blindness
by Sophia-the-fangirl
Summary: Molly's husband has been put into a coma by none other than Moran himself, from the wishes of Moriarty. She'll team up with Lestrade to find retribution. MorMor and MollCroft. Rated T to be safe.


Chapter 1

_This isn't real, this isn't real, this isn't real._ Molly kept telling herself this over and over again as she hurried to the ER. She usually didn't go to that part of St. Bart's, but something terrible had happened.

Sherlock was pacing outside of one of the rooms; John was trying to get into the room, yelling the whole time "I'm a doctor! Let me through!". She grabs her brother-in-law by the scarf, ceasing his path of footsteps. "What happened? Is he okay? Why aren't we in the room?"

He raises his hand as if to say _stop talking_. "My brother has been shot, I know not where. He's currently in a coma, but they don't know if he'll ever come out of it. It has been confirmed that Moran is behind it all. I was at the crime scene, I would know. And we can't go in because there's so much going on in there already, the doctors see us as an unnecessary disruption." Sherlock replies in a cool, calm manner.

"And you're okay with all of this? My husband could be dead, and-"

"And you are forgetting that he was my brother first," Sherlock cuts her off. "I simply see no reason for panic. Now, I want Moran gone as much as you do. We kill Moran, Moriarty won't be too hard to find. However, while I was… away, I tried to find Sebastian myself. He is so deep in Moriarty's network, he can disappear whenever convenient."

Molly lets go of his scarf. After Sherlock had faked his death, with her help, he had gone undercover to try and take down Moriarty's web of crime. Too bad for the government James had merely faked his death, and a network as intricate as his was difficult to destroy.

John appears next to his boyfriend. "Those damn medics won't let me in. As much as Mycroft and I squabble, I still think I should be able to see him."

"Calm down, John," Sherlock almost pushes the shorter man aside. "Why would anyone want to see my brother anyway? I guarantee our own parents won't make an appearance in this little fiasco."

The couple then proceed to talk in hushed tones about some case they were working on for Lestrade. Molly watched the two finish each others' sentences. She still didn't understand why they weren't at least engaged yet. They had a son, for God's sake (biologically Sherlock's and Irene Adler's kid, but he wasn't supposed to know that). Whatever the reason was, Sherlock and John seemed to be a perfect couple. Suddenly, John looks like he's going to explode. "Sherlock, you left Hamish alone in the flat?!"

"He's what, ten years old? He'll be fine by himself for a little while."

"He'll probably get into your chemistry set, or find the toes you left in the toaster, and you know that boy will experiment when we're not home!"

A sudden realization dawns on Sherlock's face. Then: complete reassurance. "Mrs. Hudson is probably looking after him right now. He's fine."

John starts dragging Sherlock down the long hallway. "We are going home right now! Sorry for the inconvenience, Molly, but someone here needs to apologize to our landlady!"

She watches the two bicker about whether Mrs. Hudson is their housekeeper or not as they disappear through the ER doors. Almost as soon as they left, Lestrade came out of the hospital room and motioned for Molly to sit next to him.

"How is he?" she asks quietly, not really wanting to hear the answer.

The Detective Inspector sighs. "In a coma. We don't know if he'll live or not. It-" he stops suddenly, looking away from Molly for a second. "It was Moran, you know. I saw him flee the scene. He was talking to someone on a phone, and we managed to hack it."

"Really? Who was he talking to? What did he say?"

"Moran was conversing with his boss, Moriarty. All James said was 'Is it done?', and Moran said 'Yup. That'll teach him to compromise the agreement again'."

The two were silent for a minute: Lestrade out of confusion, Molly from realization. The agreement was a deal Mycroft had with both Moriarty and Moran. It dated back to their schooldays at some academy; James had told her about it, much to her boyfriend's dismay. Why would anything in their arrangement go sour now?

"Molly," Lestrade finally starts. "I can't guarantee you that he'll live. I can, however, help you in case you were thinking of looking for Moran. I have some classified files on him from his days in the army. Everything we know about him is in there: his colleagues, where he worked before Moriarty's network, everything. I can't specifically show you these files, but I can tell you what's on them, piece by piece."

"Really?" she asks her friend. He nods. "Thank you Greg! If I am going to find Moran, and I will, I'll need all the help I can get!"

"Which is why I insist on joining you."

Her brain freezes. "But- but what about your job? Or your safety? Or-"

"Look, I want Moran dead as much as you do at this point. And you can't face these people alone; a lot of them would kill you without a second thought. I will join you so we can find Sebastian quickly, so you will live to see him dead, and so we can both say we've accomplished something this summer." Lestrade almost smiled at that last part.

"Okay, we'll do it together. Where do we start?"

"Anthea can make sure we get wherever we need to go. You can't breathe a word of this to Sherlock or John; they'll just try and stop you."

The two stand to leave the hospital. "Do you know where Moran might be hiding?"

"I know where his daughter is currently staying. I bet if we find her, Moran won't be too far behind."

Chapter 2

The government-issued jet dropped Molly off at a townhouse in Venice. Lestrade gave her quick instructions from his seat in the jet; he didn't want to interfere with this confrontation. "If I'm right, and I usually am, Moran's daughter is in the front room on the second floor. She's only ten, so please don't freak her out. That might make Moriarty show up, and he's twenty more flavors of crazy."

She nods at the DI. "Thank you."

Picking the lock on the front door wasn't very hard, thanks to this small device Anthea had given them before they left. She didn't even look up from her cell phone while explaining how it worked, it was that easy to use.

The townhouse had a cozy feel to it, which freaked Molly out more than it should have. The idea of these two serial killers having a life outside of crime was unsettling, even though she had seen Sherlock and John work on a case, which was close to insanity in itself. There was no noise coming from any of the rooms, but Molly knew that a ten-year-old girl was sleeping soundly upstairs. She pulls out her gun. If Moran is here, Molly wanted to be ready.

Suddenly, a woman's voice from the parlor to her right says, "What do you think you're doing?"

Not just any woman. The Woman.

Irene Adler, former dominatrix and mother of Sherlock's son, steps out of the shadows, a gun poised in her manicured hand. "How about we both put aside these silly toys and talk, hmm?"

Molly grips the gun even tighter. "How do I know we're truly alone?"

Irene makes a face that seems to say "valid point". She then proceeds to turn on all the lights in the lower half of the townhouse with the snap of her fingers. Her gun clatters to the ground and she steps away from it, making her way into the parlor. "I guess, dear Molly, we don't really know who's watching us. But if Sebastian or James were here, they would be watching their daughter first."

Molly reluctantly sets her gun on a nearby coffee table and sits across from her old friend. "You know it's been nine years since anyone on Baker Street has seen you."

She laughs. "Oh no, I've met with Sherlock a few times since then. Granted, we weren't in the best graces, but that's all water under the bridge." Irene's voice falters for a moment. "How….. how is he?"

"A lot different from the baby pictures. He just turned ten, and, oddly enough, Hamish has asked John multiple times where his mother was." Molly was almost certain that her nephew knew who his real father was, but he couldn't possibly remember his mother.

"I can't see him until he's eighteen. Sherlock said that it was in everyone's best interests if I just stayed away. So I keep my promise, John sends me emails with updates about my son, and life goes on."

"And you're babysitting for a notorious criminal, I see."

"James and I go way back, you know that. When he contacted me about this whole mess with Moran and your husband, how could I say no to babysitting a darling little girl?" She replies, motioning upstairs.

"I don't understand. You should be siding with the father of your son. We- we were friends back then." Her voice breaks at the last sentence. They had become close when Irene was with Sherlock. Everyone knew that they really didn't love each other, but sometimes letting people daydream for nine months (not including the six months after their son was born that they still stayed together) seemed like a nice gesture.

"I had hoped we would stay in touch. But, you have a promising future, and I have a busy one. If our paths ever did cross again, I wanted it to be when we were both in better places. Of course, I didn't want to see you here like this: trying to torture an innocent child, so set on revenge you forget what's really important, burning bridges you had no idea existed."

"I- I don't know what to say." Now that someone was putting sense into her head, Molly realized what a stupid idea kidnapping a ten-year-old was.

"Then please, leave this place. Pursue a more fruitful endeavor."

:"You're right, Irene. Thank you. I now see that I shouldn't go after Moran's loved ones. No, I should go after Moran."

Irene stands as Molly makes for the exit. "I didn't mean-"

"Goodbye, Miss Adler. I hope when we next meet, it will be for a better purpose. Maybe a wedding, or something cheery like that."

Irene stood dumbfounded as Molly scooped up her gun, left the house, and met Lestrade and the jet a block away.

"Change of plans?" Greg asks dubiously, a fresh cup of coffee in his hand.

"Yes, actually," she climbs into the aircraft. "Where would Moran go if he knew he was being chased?"

He flips through the thick file labeled CLASSIFIED. "Ummmmmmm….. Maybe in London? That is where he mainly lives, and if he wanted to throw us off-"

"Perfect! We need to get there as soon as possible!"

Chapter 3

Lestrade follows Molly up the steps to a new flat in the nicer part of town. Usually Greg wouldn't want to get involved with Moriarty more than necessary, but this case was off-books. Besides, Molly had a feeling her comrade didn't want her storming Moran's home by herself.

The walls are monochrome and sleek; the hallway seems to be a maze of ice that ultimately leads to a death in cold blood. The pair's footsteps echo throughout the building, sounding like they're the only two there.

Moriarty's flat (which he shares with Moran) is labeled in fresh block symbols: 665D.

"Funny, their flat number is one shy of Satan himself." Greg notes. "It's almost as if they're one factor away from total infamy."

Molly recalls their daughter and swallows a surge of guilt. "Can you pick the lock?"

Lestrade almost looks offended. He brandishes an old credit card (Anthea had taken away their technology privileges after she found out what they were intended for) and easily opens the flat's heavy door.

"That should have been difficult," he points out. "These flats are newer, they should be rigged to the T with alarms."

Suddenly, a voice from the shadows of the flat emerges. "He's right. But I wanted it to be easy for you."

It was Moran, the famed sniper of James Moriarty himself. Molly had never seen the man in person, but she had been given a fairly good description from police reports: white blond hair, blue eyes, tall, slight, and very elusive.

"How about we make a deal straight away, Ms. Hooper? Come in here alone, I don't shoot your friend, and we'll see what we can work out."

Molly noticed all at once that Lestrade had a red dot focused on his throat. His face read nothing but calmness, but she knew Moran wouldn't hesitate with shooting the DI.

"Okay, Moran. I'm coming in. I will shut the door behind me. Do not shoot." She nods at her friend, who gives a slight head jerk.

Into the flat. She shuts the door. Lights turn on.

Moran stood in front of a loveseat, holding a gun at the ready. Thankfully, Molly had her gun out as well. He notices it, and smirks. "I see we both came prepared." His smile reminded Molly of a wolf when its found its next prey. Not the most settling thing to witness with a gun in your hand.

She sets her gun on the floor; he does the same.

"So," she begins. "how do you plan to deal with this?"

Moran gives a small chuckle. Lestrade wasn't kidding when he said the man was like Moriarty's shadow. "I've already done my job. James gave me my assignment, I carried it out… my work is done."

"Your work put your old friend into a coma, in case you didn't notice!"

"It was unfortunate, having a personal case. I wasn't trying to hurt dear Holmsie, and I didn't, really. You can't hurt him just by shooting him. Nah, there's more to that. Anyway, my part of the task is done. All Jim told me was that the negotiation was in danger of being compromised. Putting him into a coma was the best solution."

Molly was sure her face only conveyed confusion. "But… but you did hurt him, Moran. You shot him."

He shakes his head, moving closer to her. "No, no, that's not it. Powerful people like him… like Jim, or Sherlock, even… you can't hurt them by hurting them. They always told me to go after someone they care about. When it was Sherlock and Reichenbach, I had my best gun trained on John. Flash back to before the arrangement, and Mycroft had me kidnapped and held as prisoner so James could agree with him on something."

She squats to avoid blacking out. Moran was making sense, but he wasn't making sense. Molly decided that talking wouldn't solve the problem.

"Ms. Hooper, are you alright?"

"I will be… I just need a little retribution."

In a flash her gun fired at Moran. He collapses to the ground, holding his stomach. Blood spills everywhere.

Suddenly, a voice as smooth and cold as ice behind her coos, "Oh my, you shouldn't have done that."

With a bang, Molly falls to the ground, her right leg punctured by a bullet from Jim Moriarty's gun.

She sees him run over to his sniper, calling an ambulance all the while. Lestrade is yelling from the other side of the door; it's getting harder for her to see. The last thing she hears before passing out is Moran quietly say, "We did it, boss. We finally hurt Holmes."

Chapter 4

Beep. Beep. Beep. Beep.

The hospital is so clean and official. Everything in Molly's room was white, except for the metal machines she was hooked up to.

Sherlock and John were there. They looked concerned.

"What happened?" She asks, beginning to feel the sharp pain in her leg.

"Lestrade filled us in. Apparently you shot Moran, then Moriarty shot you, then he called the ambulance while trying to make sure you were still breathing. Moriarty must've called sooner, because you two were picked up pretty quickly." John explains, looking relieved and upset at the same time. Sherlock is staring out the window, which paints a scene of a beautiful courtyard. Wait a minute…

"This isn't St. Bart's. Where am I?"

"This is a private hospital, used commonly by our family. Nobody wanted this getting out into the public, so Moriarty sent you to the same place he sent Sebastian." the younger Holmes brother explains, not looking at her once. Something was wrong, though Molly could never figure out how her brother-in-law felt. "And don't ask any silly questions about my brother, Molly. He's fine. Been out of a coma for a few days."

"A few days? How long was I out?"

John crunches numbers mentally. "Roughly five days. It was quite a shock, with Moran out of the hospital in three days. But we all know Moran makes remarkable recoveries from injuries, so it was kind of expected."

She collapses back into her bed. It was a lot nicer here than it was at St. Bart's. The perks of private hospitalizing.

Just then Lestrade knocked on the door softly. "Hey. How're you feeling?"

"Great, thanks. You okay?"

"Never better. Besides that fact that Moriarty and his top accomplice slipped out from under our noses, of course. We had that guy's whole room bugged, and they just disappear!"

She offers a small smile. "Well, we can always go looking for them again. It was pretty fun, actually."

"Best off the book case I've ever worked on."


End file.
